Mistakes
by ThyPenOrThySword
Summary: Rated T for mentions of death. Dorothy retells, many years later, the events that took place during her time in Oz.


Disclaimer: None of the events, people, places, or objects mentioned below are my property. Full rights belong to the creators of the original work.

A/N: This work is unedited. Please excuse any errors that you find, and either message me about them or mention them in your review. Enjoy.

I did not mean to have this happen. You have to understand this. I truly did not mean to. It might seem silly to you, the fact that it was all a mistake, but it really was. You can ask anyone who was involved. None of this was ever meant to happen.

My very presence in this strange and foreign land was a mistake. I belonged, then, in Kansas, with my Aunt Em and Uncle Henry. A storm carried me there, if you will believe it. I know that it sounds strange; who has ever heard of an entire house being lifted up by a storm and deposited in another land? I have heard wives-tales, but until recently I always dismissed them. Perhaps I should have listened. Perhaps if I had listened, none of this would have happened.

Then, perhaps this whole tragedy could have been avoided. I do not claim to know the truth about the origin and life of the Wicked Witch, or her sister, but I have heard tales. Stories, really. Rumors.

All I know is what I saw with my own eyes. Sometimes, I doubt that I even truly know that. In a land of magic, eyes are easily deceived. Or mistaken. Mistakes happen. This whole, forsaken land is proof of that.

She really was green. 'Green as sin,' they say. Well, I don't know how people know what color sin is. From my experience, sin comes in all shapes, sizes, and colors. This Wicked Witch, well, she was green like an old piece of fabric that had once, long ago, been the most brilliant of emeralds. Green like the corners of the run-down buildings in their famous city. It seems strange to me. Everything else was green; why not the people?

More than sinful, as they claimed, she seemed terribly lonely. She reminded me of those women you hear about in the newspapers, the women who lose their husbands and children in tragic accidents, and lose their minds. Perhaps something like that happened to her. To have led the life that I imagine she must have led, and then to have lost someone precious to you, must have been unimaginably painful. I am fairly confident that, if I were in her shoes, so to speak, I would be wicked, too. The mind, the heart, can only take so much before it breaks.

I suppose that I should tell you the story, rather than ramble on like this. I jus desperately want you to understand. I do not want to be a hero. Heroes conquer villains. Even if she were truly a villain, something which I doubt in my heart of hearts, I did not murder her. It was all a mistake. Silly, really.

The Good Witch Glinda sent me to the Wonderful Wizard of Oz after the untimely death of the Wicked Witch of the East. But were they really? Was Glinda really that good? Was the wizard really all that wonderful? Was the witch truly wicked? I have no way of knowing. Everyone has a past, a reason. Who am I to judge them? Then, who are you? At least I was there.

The wizard was supposed to return me to my home in Kansas. Instead, he sent me, a young girl who had just accidentally killed a woman I knew nothing of, to kill a witch. It does not surprise me that their world is strange and forsaken, knowing that they send mourning children to do the work of men.

Of course, I had no intention of killing the witch. By all that is gracious, I had just killed the poor woman's sister and stolen her shoes! I planned on apologizing to her, but you know how that worked out. I would have liked to have returned the shoes to her as well. Unfortunately, I could not seem to remove them from my feet. Some strange sort of magic held them there. So, you see, I truly had no intent to harm her.

When my companions and I reached her castle, she sent various creatures to us. She sent dogs, crows, and bees. They would not have seemed nearly as viscous in the daylight as they did in the shadowed darkness. She seemed determined to tell us something. What it was, I will never know.

Once I met her face to face, we squabbled over my shoes. Isn't it silly? All of this over a simple pair of shoes. No shoes are that beautiful. Not so beautiful that they are worth killing for. Few things in life are worth killing for.

At one point, she took up her broom. She set fire to it and continued to come after me. I was so stunned that I could barely explain myself to her. I told her why I was there. I told her everything. Unfortunately, once the mind, the heart, has been hurt so many times, it loses the ability to acknowledge the good. It becomes hardened, like a cold, distant emerald.

The fire caught her leg. In the way fire does, it quickly began to spread. I panicked. Seeing a bucket nearby and thinking the rumors were just that, rumor, I threw it over her head, shouting that I would save her. My intent was guiltless.

I told her, at one point, that I would never forgive myself for killing her sister. To this day, many years later, I do not. I also do not forget. As she said to me, I left a trail of death behind me when I was in Oz. Death and desperation. For that, I will also never forgive myself.

My foremost crime, you might say if you were a poet, was my innocence. I only wanted to help. I was gullible and naive. I wanted to help everyone I came across, no matter their motives. That was why she died, truly. It was not the shoes. It was not the wizard. It was not destiny. It was not because she was a sinful creature that had to be destroyed. It was my innocent want to help her that made me dump that fatal water on her. And for that, I will never be forgiven.


End file.
